


What They Don't Want To Do

by katoxym



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android abuse, It’s honestly up to you when this takes place because I don’t even know and I’m the one writing it, Reader doesn't know what the hell they're doing, Slow Build, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 21:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katoxym/pseuds/katoxym
Summary: You're the one who has to keep track of investigations, but when you're the only person willing to write up reports, you're sent out of the office to do the job nobody else can be bothered to complete.Easy enough, right?





	What They Don't Want To Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an absolute mess because most of it was written at 2am. I'll probably clean stuff up later, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Snow in Detroit wasn’t a rare occurrence, especially in winter months like these. It was often cold out, and you’d grown accustomed to staring mindlessly out of the Police Department windows, watching the white flakes fall softly to the ground as you sat with your head resting in your hands.

There was nothing much on your desk besides a mug and your computer, both of which you’d moved out of the way to make room for the notepad you carried around with you. It was leather bound, and rather big when compared to the standard-issue tablet you were given, but seeing as your job didn’t require you to leave the office much you had never considered portability to be an issue.

You passively note the sound of footsteps behind you before a voice forces you out of your thoughts. “You do realise we give you technology for a reason, right? If you lose that notepad-”

“-There are no backups,” you finish automatically, not taking your eyes of the paper, “I know- I know, you don’t need to remind me.”

Your co-workers took every opportunity they had to tell you that your journal was an inconvenience, made even worse by the fact that your handwriting consisted of illegible scribbles and single words that had been mercilessly circled over and over again in different coloured ink. It made sense to you, though; it had helped you keep logs of investigations happening all over the city. That’s what you were paid to do, and if it made you more efficient at doing your job then you saw no reason why people should give you shit over it.

You spin around on your chair carelessly, looking up to see Captain Jeffrey Fowler staring at you with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

 _Shit._ He never usually left his office unless someone was in trouble.

“You know I don’t do field work,” you remind him, raising your hands in defence. “The notepad never leaves the building.”

“That’s about to change,” he states. You look at him, confused, and he adds, “We’ve had reports of another homicide in the centre of the city, and this time your logs will be completed while you’re tagging along.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait- what? Why me?”

He rests his hands on your desk. “Because somebody has to write up what happens and you’re the only person here who _won’t_ give me shit when I ask them to do it,” he states, gesturing in your direction. “Look, you will be accompanied by Lieutenant Hank Anderson, who is leading this investigation, and the android assigned to him. Do not let the quality of your reports falter just because you’re out of the office.”

You’re about to protest but you stop yourself at the last second, giving a brief nod before sliding the notepad off the desk and standing up.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “I’ll do my best.”

 

* * *

 

 You presume, upon leaving the building, that Hank is the one leaning against the car with his arms folded. His grey hair looks as if it hasn’t been cut in years, and his face seems to be twisted into a look of disapproval. Even from the doorway you notice the strong smell of alcohol coming from the car, but you decide not to mention it as you take a step forward.

You’d never really seen Hank in the office before, only overheard things akin to myths about the time he spends at bars during work hours. The android, on the other hand, had warranted mixed opinions from your co-workers, some of which feared that their jobs were now ‘ _at risk_ ’. Although, you’ll admit, you’d never seen it around much either.

Hank raises an eyebrow upon seeing you. “I take it you’re the one Fowler sent?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, approaching slowly. Aware of the sudden silence, you add, “I’m just supposed to be making notes, so I’ll be out of your way. I uh- I don’t want to distract you or anything.”

“ _Sure_.” He gives a dismissive wave as he gets into the driver’s seat, “Just- get in the back.”

You comply without question as you open the car door, and as you’re clambering over to the far left seat you can’t help but notice the coffee-coloured stains on the torn fabric inside. Trying not to think about it too much, you drag the seatbelt over your shoulder, fasten it, and grip your notepad with both hands.

Next to Hank was the android you’d been told about, exposed by the flickering blue LED on the side of his head. You stare at his reflection in the mirror out of curiosity, and are almost taken aback by how human he appears up close. From your seat, you can make out his brown eyes and smooth skin, with what looks like a lone freckle on his cheek. He’s wearing something similar to the standard uniforms you’ve seen most androids wear outside, but with the word ‘ _RK800’_ visible on the back of his jacket and what you can only presume to be his serial number underneath.

“My name is Connor,” he explains, turning around to face you. “I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

Hank groans. “ _Here_ we go again.”

“I was told you were supposed to be helping us with the investigation,” Connor adds, ignoring Hank’s whining. His voice is friendly- calming even. You could get used to listening to it.

“Hah. I’m not so much ‘helping’ as I am ‘tagging along’,” you comment, letting out a self-conscious laugh. “I- I promise I’ll stay out of your way once we get there.”

“Connor, are you done blocking the mirror?” Hank turns to the android. “I can’t drive if I can’t _fucking_ see.”

Connor swiftly withdraws, sitting back into the chair. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

As Hank starts up the engine, you become painfully aware of the fact that Connor is still staring at you in the mirror. You try and ignore it, opening your notepad to the next clean page and resting it on your lap, but you know he’s looking – you can _feel_ him looking - and it’s distracting you. Sunlight seeps through the widows in front of him, lighting up the little specs of dust floating through the air that complement the car’s old age. You reach for your jacket, trying to fish out a pen in an attempt make a few preliminary notes, but instead your hands only come into contact with the fabric at the bottom of your pockets.

“ _Shit…_ Do either of you have a pen I could borrow?”

Despite the ever-present noise of the car, you swear you hear Hank mutter the words ‘ _you had one job_ ’ under his breath.

Connor turns around again, and doing his best not to get in Hank’s way, he holds a hand out towards you. His fingers are wrapped carefully around a black biro. “Is this alright?” he offers, and you nod as you accept it with a warm smile.

Hank peers at the android through squinted eyes. “The fuck did you get that from?”

“I planned accordingly,” Connor states, directing his attention towards you once again. “I know you prefer writing on paper. I also know you don’t usually work outside of the office, so I brought a spare pen in case you forgot to bring one.”

“Oh,” you reply, not sure what else to say. “Thank you.”

“There have been several reports of hostile deviants in this area,” the android explains, as you start to write down key bits of information in the margins of your notes, “The most recent one was 34 minutes ago, which suggested a human had been killed by an android in a shop on the outskirts of the city.”

As if on cue, Hank pulls over at the side of the road in an area surrounded by the flashing blue lights of police cars and holographic ‘do not cross’ tape. His grip on the wheel loosens. “Well… This is it,” he says with a groan as he reaches for the car door.

Both you and Connor follow him out of the car, and the winter air hits you like a rock the moment you open the door. It isn’t snowing as much as it was earlier, but there’s still the odd flake or two falling to the ground as they paint the world white.

“The victim’s name is Sean Morris, age 32,” Connor explains, mainly for your benefit, as you start writing again. “He was identified by an acquaintance who happened to be in the shop at the time the crime took place.”

You briefly glance through the window before taking a step inside, noticing that a whole shelf (and all the cans that were previously on it) had been knocked over onto the floor. Hank seems to have noticed this too, as he waves Connor over to have a closer look at it. There’s a human body, limp and slumped over by the collapsed shelf, seemingly buried under its old contents. His head is stained a dark crimson, but there are small patches of blue blood on the floor near his body.

Everything smells sterile.

“There was definitely some sort of android involvement,” Connor assures, leaning closer to the victim’s body, “But I don’t believe it was armed.” He reaches out towards the spots of thirium on the floor with two fingers, making sure to get some of the blue blood on his hand. As he brings the sample closer to his face, you watch his lips part, and he gently presses his fingertips against his tongue before pulling away.

You blink.

 _Did he just…_ lick _the evidence?_

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Connor asks, standing up. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. “I am aware some humans feel uneasy when I analyse samples like this. If it helps, I can warn you before-”

You laugh. “No, it’s fine,” you say, shaking your head. “I just wasn’t expecting you to do something like that, you know?”

Hank pats you on the shoulder as he walks by. “Yeah, you get used to it eventually.”

You look around. Nothing seems too out of place; it’s just your standard convenience store, filled to the brim with cheap, unhealthy foods and other miscellaneous tat. Signs with phrases like ‘on sale, buy now’ and ‘limited time only’ are plastered all over the walls around you as if they’re some sort of morally questionable collage.

When you look over at Connor again, he’s moved himself behind the counter, peering at a monitor on the desk. From the other side of the room, he appears to be lost in thought, and you take a few, slow steps towards him. He doesn’t look up from the security footage.

“So the android was attacked first, but it pushed the victim in self-defence,” he concludes, before looking up at the corners of the ceiling at each camera. “After the victim fell, they landed in a blind spot in the security cameras. There is no footage of them beyond that point.”

Hank crosses his arms. “Great, even the _cameras_ in this place are cheap.”

“What about the deviant?” you ask, walking over to where Connor stands and looking at the monitor.

“It can be seen running out of the shop two minutes later.”

You hear shouting, then screaming, then the sound of cans falling to the floor coming from the security footage on the desk. Connor replays it again, and this time you hear the words ‘ _fucking androids_ ’ and other insults being shouted before somebody yells for an ambulance and the deviant stumbles away.

Hank takes another look at the body on the floor. “When did the victim arrive?”

“Just under an hour ago,” Connor replies, rewinding the video. “The deviant arrived six minutes later.”

You take a step forwards and look up from your notes. “…There are security cameras in the neighbouring shops, right? Maybe one of them saw something?”

Hank furrows his brow and Connor’s lips part in thought. They both seem to consider it for a second.

Connor looks back at you and says your name. “Come with me. Lieutenant Anderson, stay here and keep an eye on the crime scene. If anything happens, let me know.”

Hank raises an eyebrow, keeping his arms folded. “The fuck are you two going?”

“We’re going to take a look at the security footage,” Connor replies, walking out from behind the counter and towards the doors. “We won’t be long.”

Closing your notepad, you look over at the Lieutenant for some sort of reaction. He just shrugs.

“Alright,” you start, turning towards Connor. “Looks like I’m following you, then.”

 

* * *

  

It isn’t until you get outside that you realise you have absolutely no clue what the fuck you’re supposed to be doing. This was supposed to be easy: take notes, stay out of the way.

You sigh. At this rate, you’re going to need a lot more coffee in your system if you want to be able to make it through the night.

“…So,” you say awkwardly, “Which way do you think it went?”

You’ll admit you feel a little intimidated by Connor’s presence, but you’re not sure if you just feel this way because he’s an android. You’re fascinated by him. He seems so real- and yet, you know he’s not human. It’s conflicting.

Perhaps intimidated isn’t the right word.

“From what I saw on the video feeds, I believe he went right,” Connor states matter-of-factly. Still, he looks either side of him before walking towards a store a couple of shops down.

You follow him like a dog as you hold your notepad and pen close to your body, letting out a small sigh of relief upon feeling the warm air of the shop hit your skin. There are a few people already inside, going about their business, and on the far end of the room, behind the counter, a human vendor looks up from whatever she was reading. She greets you both with a smile.

“There are traces of thirium in this store,” Connor whispers, tilting his head slightly. “It’s the same thirium that was found near the body. The deviant has been in here.”

You’re about to let the words ‘ _are you sure_?’ pass through your lips, but he’s already approached the vendor before you get a chance to open your mouth.

“Hi. My name is Connor. We’re from the Detroit Police,” he introduces. “We’re investigating a homicide on this street, and we suspect an android was heavily involved. Have you seen anything suspicious?"

As if on cue, you hear the sound of a box being dropped on the floor, and the two of you turn around to see an android running out of the door. Connor’s LED blinks and he starts chasing it down the street before you’re even fully aware of what’s going on. Fear kicks in immediately, and your legs seem to respond quicker than your brain because you’re already running after Connor and out of the shop.

Your feet pound rhythmically against the snow on the floor outside, but you can’t keep up with either of them. Connor is far ahead of you, closing in on the android, and the way he runs across roads to cut corners is nearly enough to make your heart stop.

By the time he reaches the next road, he doesn’t even flinch as he vaults over a moving car and dodges the van that’s next to it. It’s an action that provokes both admiration and uneasiness, but you push those thoughts out of your head and continue running after the deviant with all your energy.

Connor turns a corner into an alleyway, and a few seconds later, you’re standing beside him. Your breathing is erratic and you feel faint, but at least the deviant is cornered.

It collapses onto the floor once it realises this, with one hand gripping their shoulder. Looking around, it notices something sharp on the floor and reaches out for it with their spare hand. It’s wearing the standard-issue uniform for androids, but half of its face is obscured by long, matted hair and dried bits of blue blood.

“I- I didn’t mean to kill him,” it whimpers. “Please, I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Connor takes a step forward. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he lies, “Just tell us what happened.” You try to mimic his calming posture.

 “He kept shouting at me, calling me names. He kept _pushing_ me. I- I did nothing to deserve it.”

“What did you do to him?” you ask softly.

The android looks up at you, as if it were on the verge of tears. “I p- pushed him back. Hard. He fell and I was so _scared_ , and-” Its lip quivers.

It stops, lifting up the sharp object it had found, and holds it gently in the palm of its hand. It’s a piece of metal, you notice, but before Connor gets a chance to pull it away, the android thrusts it into its stomach and twists.

With a soft whimper, its body goes rigid. Then it goes limp.

Hank’s voice cuts through the air as he runs up behind the two of you. “Connor, I got your message. Are you-” his gaze falls to the android. “ _Shit_. I’m calling Fowler. See if I can bring it back for interrogation.”

“We’re too late,” Connor replies, as emotionless as ever. “It’s already self-destructed.”

And you watch as the blue blood seeps from its stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's no romancing the robot yet. Future chapters will probably be between 2k and 3k words as having a word count any higher puts me off writing and leads to a year between updates so uh... I don't exactly want to put myself (or you) through that.


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